


part 7.

by hdarchive



Series: Heartstrings Verse [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd!Blaine, Skank!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2242731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is just about to let himself want Blaine, but then the school finds out. And when Kurt falls, one person catches him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	part 7.

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: mentions of bullying/harassment

The thing about their studying session is that it ended in an orgasm. So Kurt figures he can’t really be blamed if he fails the exam.

It wasn’t hard, necessarily. Kurt recognized most of the terms and diagrams. He simply had a hard time concentrating, his mind choosing then to stitch together the pieces of that night.

He _tried_  though, perhaps the first time he put effort into his schoolwork since freshman year.

Kurt had tried, and as he sits in his desk, arms pressed to his chest and foot tapping against the floor, waiting, a part of him hopes it was enough.

There are two outcomes here: He could fail, and while he might be able to live with the grade, he isn’t sure how well his dad will react. He could fail - and how would he tell Blaine?

Or he could pass. And something in Kurt’s brain blanks, a negative space. So unlikely that he can’t begin to imagine the possibilities.

He blinks, eyes on his desk, a small smile fighting its way across his face. He had been nervous, not that he’d admit it, and he’s even more nervous now with everything weighing on it. His mind flips back to the morning of the exam, when he woke up to a text - _‘If I were to send you inspirational quotes throughout the day would you be mad?’_

And mostly dead to the world, hoping it was a dream, Kurt had replied:  _‘Yes.’_  before shoving his phone under the pillow and falling back asleep.

The class stirring back to life shifts him out of his thoughts, students turning in their seats to compare grades to those around them. The teacher finally walks her way down his aisle, stack of papers diminishing as she hands them out, her presence demanding that Kurt looks up when she stops in front of his desk.

He’s not sure what to think, her expression is unreadable. He fixes a bored gaze on her, slouching back in his seat.

“Remarkable effort, Kurt,” she says, and it takes everything in him to not jump up and grab the exam from her.

His hands shake as he grasps the paper, weightless and yet too heavy in his grip. He holds it to his face but doesn’t look, heart tight in his throat, and then casts his eyes down.

In dark red ink at the top of the page:  _79%_.

Kurt doesn’t even have time to smile, to process what it means because there’s a voice right in his ear and -

“Oh, seventy-nine percent?” Rachel asks, suddenly too close. “Interesting.”

She leans her body over the aisle, neck stretching and eyes nearly bulging out of her head to get a better look.

Kurt pulls it out of her view, holding it in the air. Throat tight, pulsing, he has to fight to swallow. “Is there a problem, Rachel?”

“Of  _course_  not, Kurt,” she says around a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then the room is pierced with the screech of her seat being dragged closer to him. “I just figured that if Blaine’s spending all his time tutoring you, opposed to other things, that something greater could have come out of it.”

Sliding to the left of his seat, he asks, “Excuse me?”

Rachel makes a face, mouth twisting into a frown as she pulls her shoulders up. “Well, with someone as smart as Blaine, you could have easily gotten a  _B_.”

The line of Kurt’s back goes straight, stiff; her words clawing into him, grabbing all the strings that keep him connected and  _yanking_.

“You’re not being serious,” he says slowly, more quiet than he means to.

“All I’m saying is that perhaps Blaine’s time could be split between tutoring and . . other extracurriculars.”

He watches her, eyes wide and unblinking. His heart was working so hard to curve over the edge and now he can feel it receding, pulling back - sinking. And he can only stare, an ache in his chest, frozen.

“You know what, Rachel?” Kurt forces his mouth open, glare still level with her. “I passed, that’s all I care about,” he stops, takes another breath, “and maybe if you quit sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,  _you’d_  have more time to focus on the real problem at hand here. Seriously, did you get dressed in the dark this morning?”

His eyes flash up and down, eyebrow raising and the corner of his mouth twitching.

She goes to say something, mouth parting slightly, but nothing comes out. And Kurt thinks he might drown from the inside-out if he has to keep looking at her so he stands, bag swung over his shoulder and textbook pulled to his chest. 

He turns and heads for the exit before the teacher notices his absence.

-

The test is a crumple of paper shoved between the pages of his textbook. All he wants is to move past it, forget it in the back of his locker. Just another test, same as the ones he failed.

How stupid was he, to be proud. For a shred of a moment he was proud, he wanted to smile, he was  _excited -_  to tell Blaine, to tell his dad, for himself. And how stupid was he.

What’s even the point of spending hours a week being tutored when - when even though you pass, you fail.

Fingers curling into the metal of his locker he goes to swing it closed, only to be face to face with Blaine.

He’s so close, head resting against the neighbouring locker, and his smile brightens once Kurt is looking at him.

Kurt watches him, the way his eyebrows raise and his fingers drum against metal. Waits and waits until -

“So?” Blaine asks, voice sparkling. “How’d you do?”

Kurt keeps his fingers tucked around the edge of the door, every bone frigid in his body.

“Fine,” he breathes.

Blaine’s expression freezes, eyebrows still high and smile plastered on.

“Fine?” his voice comes out in a tight wave. “I tutor you for weeks, I made you a study board - I sent you inspirational text messages! And all I get is a fine?”

Despite the strings inside of him pulling and pulling, tying it back - Kurt smiles, a twitch to the left side of his mouth.

“Do you really wanna know?” He can’t get his voice to raise any higher, can barely fight the words out. 

“Yes!”

And they’ve barely touched since that night; Kurt finding it difficult enough to look him in the eye. But now Blaine is so close, jumping in his spot, only a breath away from Kurt. 

His eyes are bright and shining, and Kurt knows for certain that, with him, if he stares too long he will actually drown. Bright and shining and  _sincere_  - and he’s looking at Kurt.

He stops, drags his eyes away from Blaine and focuses on the scratches that cross the metal of the lockers.

He can feel Blaine’s stare, molten hot on his face.

“I passed,” Kurt says all at once, eyes squeezing closed. “Seventy-nine percent.”

Holds his breath, opens his eyes, sees Blaine’s arms tense, eyes widening and the way his smile grows.

“Kurt!” There are hands on his shoulders, a light grip pulling at his hoodie. “Kurt! That’s incredible!”

And he can’t stop from being pulled into him; his arm awkwardly pressing into Blaine’s chest, neck having to bend at an angle to hook his chin on Blaine’s shoulder.

The circle of Blaine’s arms squeeze around him, trapping the air in his lungs and the pulse in his veins. Every part of him is being held and he  _can’t_   _breathe_  but - but he can’t drown if he’s holding him like this.

Blaine’s hands run up the length of his arms, and he pulls away to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? This is amazing.”

Kurt’s bottom lip instinctively curls in, teeth biting down hard -  _something greater could have come out of it._  And there are pinpricks behind his eyes, he has to blink a few times, has to breathe.

With a helpless shrug he says, “I don’t know - Rachel just . . said something.”

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing, it’s not important,” Kurt’s voice cracks into a whisper, eyes landing back on the lockers.

Blaine’s fingers flex around his arms, spreading out to cover as much as possible. “Kurt.”

“She just-” he looks up at the ceiling, the pinpricks nearly stabbing now. “She told me I should have done - she said - you’re my tutor and she thought it should have been  _better_ -”

One hand slips down his arm, curves inwards until it’s resting on his waist.

“Stop.” There’s a spot of warmth where Blaine is holding him, growing and spreading in every direction. “You passed, Kurt. That’s what matters.”

Finally the weight of his voice snaps, and he chokes out, “Why did I even try -”

“You worked hard for that grade, Kurt.” Blaine cuts him off, grip tightening. “Who cares what Rachel thinks?”

Everything hurts; from the scrape of his throat to the churn of his stomach to the weak bend of his knees. But then Blaine speaks, and his body doesn’t  _want_  to hurt anymore.

He can only nod, eyes now on the ground.

“But  _I’m_  proud of you.”

A smile threatens to cross his lips, corners of his mouth widening in a grim line. Four words he’s been hoping to hear all day long - and here he is.

Suddenly the hands on him are running up his torso until Blaine’s clutching at his hoodie, and Kurt pulls his head upwards to face him. He knows - he knows that if he looks too long he won’t make it to the surface but - but those four words are written across Blaine’s face, and he can’t look away.

“I’m proud of you,” Blaine repeats, tugging at him.

And then they’re pressed together, chest to chest and knee to knee, Blaine’s hands that  _won’t let go_  of him. Everything's connected, and Blaine’s eyes are already closed as he leans in further.

A million walls want to rise once his lips are on his; a million defenses want to crash through his veins and he wants to drop through the floor and vanish. He can’t vanish - not when Blaine’s standing on his tiptoes to reach him, hand curling in his sweater, holding him so tightly.

He almost forgot how warm Blaine is, how soft and wet his lips can be. How Blaine starts off tentative; slow, and builds and builds until the life is being sucked out of him. He curves along Blaine, his body reinforcing his, holding him up.

Once they pull apart, lips smacking obscenely in the empty hall, he has to look at Blaine. Eyes like pools of gold, blinking stars; watching him carefully from behind thick glasses.

Kurt aches to touch him, to bring a hand up and run his fingers along the stripes of his cardigan. Blaine is the one to reach out first, toying with the strings of his hoodie, twining it around a finger.

“I knew you could do it,” he says, faintly, like a secret he’s trying to tell the ground. “So it appears you don’t need me anymore.”

Kurt laughs, breathless and shaking, and finally touches the stripes running down Blaine’s chest. “There’s still chemistry.”

“And math . . . and English.”

They fall flat; a silence sweeping through the hall.

Blaine shakes his head, full-wattage smile filling back in. He pulls too hard on the string and it goes flying up, flicking his glasses, and then the hall is echoing with Kurt’s dry laughter.

He has to blink, pull back, fidget with the handle of his locker.

“You should probably go to class,” he decides to say, not looking at him. “I’d hate to be a bad influence on you.”

“I think I’d be plenty okay with -”

“Blaine.” Kurt forces the smile back to a hard line. “Go to class.”

A flood of colour fills his face when Blaine grins - different than his smile - at him.

He steps away from the lockers, hand trailing along the sides as he walks backwards. “Then I will see you tomorrow, Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt smiles then, small and weak but  _there_. “See you tomorrow.”

When Blaine is gone and Kurt is left alone, he walks outside to the bleachers, lungs burning for a cigarette. Every muscle is melted rubber, every step feels like he’s going to crash - the ground underneath his feet is  _falling_.

-

He wakes up the next morning excited. It’s the strangest thing, and Kurt has to sit up in bed; eyes groggy and sleep-filled, mind a whirling mess, and think, because what reason does he have to be excited . . . ?

Then he remembers, all at once, how he had laid stiff and straight in bed and thought  _go to sleep, Kurt, go to sleep, shut up and go to sleep -_

And he couldn’t, because he could still feel Blaine’s hands on him, could still feel his kiss.

And then he’s walking through the same halls as yesterday, textbook with the test in it clutched tightly in one arm, lips fighting every defense he has to smile. 

An unstoppable force that courses through him, pulse quickening with every thought and he thinks his heart would find a way to beat through a million sedatives and - and who gave human beings the power to feel this way? He certainly never chose  _this_.

But as he walks, he feels it. An unusual tension in the halls, and he’s not used to eyes on him like this. Not anymore.

Kurt’s walk begins to slow, his mind racing with urgency to catch up with the rest of the world because something isn’t  _right_  and -

The world is knocked to its side, the whole universe tipping. Gravity isn’t something that exists anymore when there are hands on him, shoving him hard. He’s not expecting it, never would expect it, and so when his entire body is knocked over he  _goes_.

Metal clangs as he bounces off the locker door; a feeling he swore to never, ever feel again.

Pain throbs through his arm, he clutches it tightly, forcing his head upright because he needs to be ready, he needs to see.

A familiar cackle fills his ears, makes his stomach burn and melt and twist. An army of red passes him; football players, one of them turning to high five another.

They look at him over their shoulders; eyes full of ice, hate, and Kurt swore  _never again_.

He doesn’t understand and his mind strains under the weight of it all. He doesn’t understand, why is this happening, why are they looking at him -

Yesterday everything was falling and falling, everything with Blaine is always falling - and today, today it’s the world. Disappearing piece by piece until all that’s left is the race of his heart, the burn of his eyes, and he has nowhere to stand.

.-

By the time he makes it to the bleachers he doesn’t have a stable bone in his body. He collapses onto the hard metal, eyes scrunching closed as he pulls his legs to his chest.

He can’t get his mind into a straight line, a million thoughts jumping in each direction, except that feeling - that  _thud -_  keeps interrupting him. Cuts every thought off, punching the breath out of his lungs. Can’t get his mind into a straight line because he can’t stop living in that moment.

Kurt feels sick; his stomach churning violently. The cool air he’s desperately trying to breathe doesn’t help, everything is so hot, spinning and spinning around him.

All he could do, all his instincts allowed him to do - run. Run and hide and don’t let them see you,  _don’t let them see you_.

The hands are still on him. He can remember the very second he felt them; hard and demanding, and he can remember the very second the world slipped from under him. And it’s like - it’s like the essence of his soul had been drained. Like whoever it was that pushed him had taken  _everything_.

The scarf around his neck is suddenly too tight; restricting. Kurt brings his shaking hands up, gently pulling at the black fabric. Putting it on this morning seems so far away now; a reality that never even existed. How was it just this morning he was excited for the day . . . ?

He runs a finger over the white skull print, silk under his skin. Soothing, cool, and he lets his mind wander for a moment longer before he has to start putting his thoughts into order.

The reason is completely unknown to him. Why.  _Why_. Something in the world changed and he can’t think of what. It must be the universe playing some sick sort of joke - because of course Kurt Hummel can’t ever be happy about something and have it last.

All they did was touch him and his heart wasn’t ready for it - he never saw it coming.

They saw him, and he’s gone by unnoticed for years now and then  _they_  saw him, and there was something they didn’t like.

They saw something they didn’t like and he doesn’t know  _what_.

And Kurt closes his eyes again, wraps his arms tighter around his knees. Because - because you can’t control how people feel about you, and you can’t control what they  _do_  about it.

And worse, oh god, worse is that he can’t even control what happens to  _him_  when they do it.

Kurt leans his cheek against his knee, sighs into it, and blinks - blinks until the tears beginning to form have no choice but to fade away.

He stays that way until there’s the creak of metal, the fall of footsteps, and his chest locks up as he lifts his head to focus on the figure approaching him.

Quinn, black jacket and pink hair, and his lungs nearly cry with relief.

“Hey,” she says, soft and raspy.

He swallows; throat scraped raw and he hasn’t even said anything yet. “Hey.”

Quinn sits down on the row below him, already digging into her pocket for something. She pulls out a package of cigarettes, offers one to Kurt. He wants to take it but his hands are shaking where they’re trapped under his arms.

If there is one person in the world he should be comfortable around, it’d be her.

She’s silent, breathing smoke into the grey sky, a thoughtful expression played across her face.

And Kurt does know her. Quinn wouldn’t be here for no reason at all.

As if on cue, she looks up over her shoulder, one eye squinting, and says, “So I guess you haven’t seen it.”

Don’t they understand that his heart can’t handle any more accelerations like that . . ? It speeds up, thumping wildly in his chest, the beat of it loud in his ears. Kurt swallows, spine straightening as his shoulders lock.

“Seen what?” he croaks.

Quinn digs back into her pocket and pulls out her phone, fiddling with the screen for a moment before handing it over to him.

He hopes she knows that if he drops it and breaks it the fault is not his; his hands couldn’t stop shaking if they were rolled out flat.

On the screen it says  _‘Has Danny Found His Sandy?’_  and he has to stop, look away (god,  _really?_ ), look at the football field and try not to scream because he knows where this is going he knows where this is going -

He scrolls down, his guts already rolling around inside him, and he holds his breath because he knows what’s about to come up and it’s not fair.

There’s a picture; shot from a distance, but still clear who the subjects are. It shows everything; Blaine on his tiptoes and Kurt leaning into him, lips interlocked.

_It’s not fair._

He thrusts the phone out away from him, turning his head so he doesn’t have to look at Quinn.

“So,” Quinn starts, and the amusement is so clear in her voice and Kurt’s mouth can’t help but curl into a snarl. “When did that happen?”

Last night Kurt couldn’t get that kiss out of his head. Warm and soft and capturing every nerve in his body. Blaine’s hands on him and he allowed it and he wanted it, and he was so close to letting himself want it and - and he was sure there was nobody in the halls. He was sure.

And now . . . and now there’s a picture out there that he cannot get back - had no say in it even being posted and he thinks about crushing Jacob Ben Israel’s bones into powder the moment he has the courage to stand up.

“It didn’t. It doesn’t - I don’t even,” Kurt exhales, voice collapsing in his throat. “It’s nothing.”

Quinn’s smirk spreads further across her face. “Because that’s what it looks like.”

“Quinn,” he snaps, eyes narrowing into glass slits. “It’s nothing. We’re nothing.”

She gets up and moves to sit next to him, his muscles flinching when she slides down the bleacher to get closer.

“Then why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

His jaw clenches, breath hard out his nose. Because . . . he had control. He became something they didn’t care about; piercings and coloured hair and a permanent scowl, and nobody looked at him and thought he deserved to be hurt. Not like before . . .

And now he’s feeling the same line of fear that almost took him away and he swore to himself it would never happen again.

“I’m not! Just - we’re not anything. Get it through your head,” Kurt says, louder, enunciating each word. “It was just a kiss. Isn’t that what everybody expects from us anyway?”

If he yells it loud enough, if he says it enough times, will it make it true? Will it make his stomach stop dropping and his heart to stop clenching . . . ?

Will it make them think differently?

A pause on her face; and then her flame-flickering eyes cool, blink, and she looks away.

“Okay, I get it,” Quinn finally says, looks back. “Want me to make him delete it?”

The damage is done, he knows. He had felt all those eyes on him and they’ve already seen it, but he nods, head heavy.

Quinn stands up and starts to step down the rows. It’s not until she’s halfway down that she turns around, strands of pink flickering across her face, and she looks at him, head tilted to the side.

“You know, that didn’t really look like a first kiss.”

And then she turns, gone almost silently, and Kurt can only blink after her.

Then everything snaps. Every string lining his body, his heart, his soul - snapping and  _stinging_. Setting off every alarm he’s built over the years, all of them ringing loudly in his head.

You can’t control what people do or feel and you can’t control what they think and - god, what do they  _think_.

His mind is pulsing with panic and his limbs are leaden as he nearly stumbles down the bleachers.

He needs to get out.

-

It’s his own fault for not having a car.

He’s the one who stopped going to school and his dad was doing the sensible thing by driving him but - but right now he needs to get out and his dad dropped him off this morning.

He can walk. He’ll walk. All the way across town, or he’ll take the bus, he doesn’t really have a choice, he needs out.

Period two is almost over by now so Kurt quickly makes his way to his locker, tugging it open and grabbing his bag and slamming it closed. Out out - he needs to be anywhere but here.

He’s not sure if the bell is actually ringing or if it’s just the constant sound in his head - but then the halls are beginning to fill with people and Kurt’s never walked faster in his life.

He thinks that if he feels another set of eyes on him he will actually burst into flames and how - how did he survive this for an entire year . . . ?

A crowd of people turn the corner, and Kurt tries to hurry through them except - somebody grabs his arms, hard.

Lifting his head is proving impossible, his neck is made of concrete. But then he hears, “Kurt?” and he has to look.

It’s Blaine, whose hands dig into the denim of his jacket, pulling at the fabric and nearly every sensible thought in Kurt’s mind evaporates, except  _out, out, I need out, take me home._

His own hands splay against Blaine’s chest, and he must look so helpless under his amber gaze but he has no restraint left in him and he can’t stop his mouth from opening, can’t stop the words from choking out.

“Can you please -” there are flames in his throat. “Can you take me home?”

He’s fortunate that it hurts too much to speak more or he’s sure he’d start begging.

Wouldn’t be necessary, because Blaine’s hands wrap tighter around him and he pulls him through the crowd, to the nearest exit.

-

Blaine doesn’t ask any questions, and Kurt doesn’t say any words.

Walking on shaking legs, his heartbeat still stuttering in his chest, Kurt follows Blaine out to the parking lot. Relief hits his lungs once Blaine’s car comes into view, and Kurt doesn’t roll his eyes or glare when the door is held open for him.

And as they drive he wants to apologize in advance for the possibility of throwing up all over the car, but there’s still a lock in his throat.

Blaine doesn’t seem to need any explanation; driving in silence, eyes occasionally flicking to Kurt’s face.

He hates how weak he feels. From his head to his toes; everything feels dizzy and hot and _too much_.

And he wants the world to stop moving so fast and he wants the sky to clear up and he wants his feet back on solid ground.

Kurt closes his eyes, head tilted against the window, and makes himself inhale.

The movement of the car starts to slow, the engine cutting out, and then he has to peel away from the glass and open his eyes because he can feel Blaine’s gaze  _burning_  into him.

Even his eyes feel heavy, a dull ache settling behind them, and he lifts his line of sight slowly until he’s meeting Blaine’s.

Eyebrows drawn down, hazel taking on a darker tone; he looks confused - and Kurt whips his head back around so he’s staring at his own feet because it’s too much. Eyes on him and . . . what does Blaine see when he looks at Kurt? Everyone else can see what they want, think what they want, and Kurt doesn’t know. And Blaine’s gaze has always been different and what does he even see -

“Do you want me to come in?” Blaine asks, a whisper of words, like he’s already been told no.

He’s never actually been in Kurt’s house, big, lonely building that it is. With walls and pictures and nothing to distract Kurt from every thought just waiting to burst through the door he’s closed in his mind.

He notes Blaine’s hands, one resting on the steering wheel and the other clenched into a fist by his side. Those hands that have held Kurt - held him in a million different ways. And every time Kurt thought _I can’t_  and every time he _could_.

He pushes his lips into a tight line, muscles in his face aching from holding his expression for so long. The swirling dizziness is still persistent in every organ, limb and nerve but he manages to nod, slow and hesitant.

And then, voice rasping, he chokes out, “Yeah - yes, please.”

-

Kurt’s panic escalates the second Blaine steps through the front door.

Blaine scans over the entire house with the flick of his eyes and Kurt isn’t sure where he’s looking, what he’s looking at.

“My room,” Kurt gasps out, raising one hand to point to the stairs.

His legs feel like giving out with every step, but Kurt slowly climbs upwards, one hand twitching helplessly at his side with the need to grab onto Blaine’s.

One thought manages to cross his mind. He hopes his room isn’t too much of a mess and -  _oh god_ , he can’t remember if he finally threw out those flowers because it’s been weeks and they were far past dead and if he still has them Blaine will never shut up -

With the door open an inch, he peeks in, glancing over, before shoving it the rest of the way.

And even though he’s surrounded by familiar walls and the comfort and safety of home, the second the two of them are inside with the door closed, Kurt feels his most helpless.

He collapses on his bed, folding himself over so his forearms align with his thighs, head hanging heavy.

In the empty, silent room he can almost hear Blaine’s thoughts.

And Kurt thinks, does Blaine even know . . . ? Because he hasn’t said a thing and his world is still standing and -

“Can I tell you something?” Blaine asks, voice as light as Kurt feels. “I may have expected your room to feature a sacrificial alter of some kind. Or at least a decorative skull thrown in somewhere.”

His face  _hurts_ , every muscle pushing through resistance, but he smiles. Throat burning as he swallows, chuckle coming out twisted and jagged. But he smiles and brings one hand up to cover his eyes.

“Nothing sacrificial here,” he says back, a whisper.

Blaine looks around one last time before eyeing the desk chair, then takes a seat.

He wishes they didn’t have to talk, wishes Blaine just  _knew_  and - he isn’t acting like he knows but what if he does and what if he doesn’t care - ?

And Kurt’s entire world slipped from under him today and he can still _feel_  it.

“You saw the, uh, the post - ?” Kurt exhales, eyes scrunching closed as he forces the words out.

Blaine looks down, pushing his glasses back up his nose before folding his hands in his lap.

“I was on my way to find you, actually,” Blaine says. “I heard about it in class.”

“Oh.”

“Well, not so much as heard it, but rather had Rachel shove her phone in my face.”

Blaine forms a weak smile, but it disappears just as quick as it showed up.

Kurt’s stomach churns, a sick wave that rips through him.

“Kurt?”

His neck throbs as he looks up. Blaine is watching him, eyes wide and questioning. He doesn’t  _know_.

“Are you - how did you find out?” Blaine asks, realization evident in every word, and Kurt can feel the locks in his chest clicking into place as Blaine stares deeper into him.

The walls begin to melt, the floor fading from view, and Kurt is - Kurt is on the edge of falling when he finally manages to take a breath.

“I didn’t,” he whispers, eyes closed again. “Until after.”

“After . . .?”

He swallows, shoulders shrinking in, and nods. “I guess - a few people just thought, I guess, that it’d be funny to push me -”

Blaine is on his feet in a split second, suddenly the largest presence in the room. He takes the step towards Kurt and drops beside him on the bed, and one hand moves towards Kurt before receding back.

“Why? Why would they - Kurt, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Kurt -”

“No, really. Don’t.” Kurt snaps, turning to his side so there’s a small space between them. “I don’t - I don’t care.”

But hands are still on him, legs and arms still light as air, and he’s still falling, still  _crashing_. And - and if he yells it loud enough won’t it make it true. . . ?

A warm palm slides against his, fingers locking into his, squeezing. “It’s just a blog post. Just watch, this time tomorrow they’ll have moved on to the next victim.”

And it’s like a slap against his face. Kurt’s insides jump, as if it were  _Blaine_  who had shoved him. Kurt stares at him, mouth hung open, eyes wide.

“It’s not just a blog -” Kurt begins to yell, hand sliding out of Blaine’s. “It’s - how could - it’s not just -”

He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, bones sinking right through his body.

“The whole school saw, Blaine! There’s nothing in the world that can make them forget it.”

Blaine looks so much smaller, curled over on the bed, head raised to watch as Kurt paces the room.

“Kurt - hey, Kurt - please listen,” Blaine pleads, hands clasped in his lap. “They’ll stop caring soon enough, I promise.”

What isn’t he seeing, doesn’t he understand that ‘soon enough’ really isn’t  _soon enough_. Not when Kurt can’t walk through the halls without fear of somebody grabbing him. Not when he can feel their eyes on him.

“No, you weren’t there, they won’t forget.”

Blaine throws his hands up, shoulders shrugging. “Then so what? If they can’t accept us then they can take it and -”

“Because it’s not true!” Kurt yells, as loud as he can manage. “Whatever they think, it’s not even true.”

And he has never seen him like this; still as stone, eyes as dark as night, glaring up at him.

“Then  _what_  is it?” Blaine drawls, sounding as if he swallowed rocks.

Kurt pulls his arms across him, holding himself tightly. Never - during every kiss and every grab of hands and every glance - has Kurt ever felt an ounce of control. Never had a say in how he felt, could only try to deny deny deny, but could never say no. And maybe - maybe if he yells it loud enough he can finally dig his claws into it and - and hold it, steer it into a dead end.

He made choices to get here, to be this. But with Blaine, there was never a choice. He was just  _there_. And Kurt can only deny deny deny.

“Nothing.”

Blaine blinks, looks at him, then stands with an all at once motion and steps around him.

Yesterday he let Blaine hold onto him because he needed it and yesterday Blaine kissed him and he wanted it.

And now they stand on opposite sides of the room. And Kurt can’t get his jaw to work properly to say something, anything, to wipe that wounded look off of Blaine’s face.

He slumps back down to the bed, hands over his eyes, and listens as Blaine’s feet move against the carpet as he gets closer to the door.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page here, Kurt.” Blaine finally says, breath shaking. And Kurt feels as if he’s being stabbed because Blaine  _sounds_  like he’s being stabbed - and in his mind the dead end is all of a sudden too close.

As Blaine moves the last few steps towards the door, Kurt’s insides feel as if they’re being stretched.

And you can’t control how you feel and you truly cannot control what you do about it - no matter how much Kurt tries when it comes to Blaine. His heart is an entirely separate thing from his body, following Blaine with every step he takes, and you truly cannot control what you do because -

“ _Blaine_ -” Kurt chokes out, one arm clutched tightly to his chest. “Wait.”

Blaine takes a breath, his exhale the loudest thing in the room, and turns around.

Kurt feels like there is something tearing him apart from the inside, claws dragging right through him, and his throat burns like he’s swallowed acid and it hurts but it would hurt more if  _he_  left.

“You can - can you please stay?”

His room is dark, blinds lowered, empty, and if he leaves it’ll be emptier and he can’t - he can’t do it. So close to driving it into a dead end but he still needs him, and Kurt wishes he didn’t but of course . . .

He moves back on his bed, every limb on the verge of quitting, a heavy, dull thud in his chest.

“I’m sorry - I don’t think I - I  _can’t_ -” he chokes, burns, hurts, and there’s nothing to catch the fall of his heart.

Blaine’s eyes flit across the bed, and Kurt tries not to curl in on himself when Blaine looks - stares at him. Breathes in, holds it, like he’s thinking he shouldn’t but - but -

He’s crosses the room, approaches the bed and sets one knee down on the edge. He leans over Kurt, sighs, hands sliding up his arms, resting on his shoulders.

“It’s - It’s okay.” Blaine voice shakes, but his hands are so sure and that’s all that matters. Kurt watches as Blaine blinks his eyes, thinks, and then, “I get it. Did you want, um, do you want to talk about it - ?”

And he can’t talk about it because he doesn’t have the words, they don’t exist. And even then, who knows what he’d blurt out . . .

Kurt shakes his head.

“Okay.”

The hands on his shoulders move, and Blaine’s fingers curl into the silk of the scarf, gently pulling it until he finds the end. And then, inch by inch, movements slow, he begins to unwind it from Kurt’s neck.

Kurt stares up at him, and he feels so small and so useless but Blaine is right there - and Kurt thinks  _careful, it’s McQueen_  but Blaine is already being careful and Kurt’s throat hurts too much, every tear on the verge of breaking through.

Once it’s off Blaine tucks it to the side, and then his hands are back on Kurt, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his jacket.

His chest is constricting, too tight, and he knows he could burst at any moment but the pressure is releasing as Blaine moves against him.

The jacket comes off and Kurt’s left in his shirt, shucks off his boots, and his own hands move to touch Blaine but he’s shaking too much, fingers tracing the line of plaid just barely, and he has to drop his hands to his lap, look away.

There is no backing out of this, not a dead end, but a road that keeps going one way.

Blaine grabs ahold of his shoulders again, thumbs sweeping, and Kurt waits - waits for him to lean in and kiss him but he doesn’t - instead pushing, gently, until Kurt allows his body to sink fully into the bed. And he thinks for a second _stop_  but he goes because it’s  _Blaine_.

“What are you -” and he can’t get the words out, why does it hurt so much. It’s like somebody poured sand down his throat, so dry and heavy and every breath scrapes against the gravel in his lungs.

Piece by piece he locks up; his spine, his legs, muscles in his arm turning into stone as the bed dips below him.

The bed shifts again, and Kurt lays there, leaning slightly to the side, as Blaine slides next to him. “You’d be amazed by the benefits of sleep, Kurt.”

Warm, solid, Blaine's chest pressing against his arm. Blaine’s right arm lifts, and slowly he moves it until it’s settled across Kurt, right over his wildly-beating heart.

And then - one by one he unlocks, pulse slowing down until he can’t hear it anymore.

To think that this is the same bed that Kurt had woken up in and thought  _I can’t wait to see him_  and to think that shortly after that the entire world was shaken, grabbed by the ankles and flipped upside down.

He didn’t know what they were thinking, just knew it was  _him_  and they wanted to hate him and somebody grabbed him and scared him and he didn’t know  _why_. And now the reason is right here.

Kurt closes his eyes, squeezes them tight, and there’s the faintest touch right below his collarbone. His slowing heartbeat comes to a complete stop once he feels it; a brush of Blaine’s thumb, over and over.

Blaine’s already close but he manages to press in further, arm more secure around Kurt.

Even if the world caved in today, Blaine is still holding him. And that - that means Kurt hasn’t truly fallen yet . . .

Blaine breathes out, warm and close, a soft whisper that matches the sweep of his thumb, and the last lock, the last barricade, in Kurt’s body collapses, and he melts into the touch.

That night, which seems so far away now but truly isn’t. He made the decision to climb on top of Blaine, but every rational thought in his mind had been trampled over again and again until they were gone. Then Blaine’s hands had been grabbing him and Kurt needed it more than air and then he had to feel as every ounce of control dripped out of him.

He wants to feel regret, he does, but it’s so hard when Blaine is right there, body aligned so perfectly against his. Kurt swallows, breathes, and he smells so comforting - warm, like cinnamon and fire.

He tilts his head, body shuffling against Blaine’s until he’s facing him better.

Blaine watches him - and Kurt thinks he’ll never get used to being seen so openly. Eyes like an autumn forest and his smile is alive there and he watches Kurt, and Kurt’s mouth twitches a weak smile back.

Which has Blaine smiling, grinning even more, brighter.

His free hand raises, brushing over Kurt’s hair, careful not to push it out of place, and with wide eyes Blaine hesitantly touches the piercing through his eyebrow. Kurt blinks at the hand in his face, but Blaine is so gentle, careful.

And Kurt can’t help it, because that  _smile,_ after every heated kiss and tease and Kurt needs it and - even though his voice sounds shot through, dry and rasping and not at all like his: "Is this your way of seducing me, Blaine?”

Blaine’s face darkens, eyes blowing up large, and Kurt can hear the way his breathing cuts short.

“Wh-what - of course not - Kurt - we’re having a  _nap_  - ”  
  
Through his jagged breath of laughter Kurt brings his own hand up, fingers playfully pushing at Blaine’s jaw. “I’m kidding, Blaine.”

Blaine pauses, eyes narrowing, face still red, but then he leans in, nose nudging off Kurt’s, his laughter so much louder, unrestrained, a shot of warmth through the dark of the room.

Never used to being seen like this, and he thinks - thinks  _what does he see_  - ?

Like a punch to his gut, every string being pulled out of his body, Kurt’s locks snap back into place.

Oh -  _how stupid was he?_  Blaine, who is never not a mirror of hope; never quitting on him. Kissing him and holding him and making him laugh. He waits in the library for him, never knowing if Kurt will actually show up and -

And that was Blaine, seeing something in Kurt and wanting to  _stay_  but then Kurt had - and that was Kurt, spitting on the very idea that they were  _anything_  - that they could ever be anything.

Saying that they were  _nothing_.

This close Kurt thinks he can hear the beat of Blaine’s heart, slow rise of his chest, the warmth of his eyes.

Still here, because he must still see something . . .

It’s so easy to say something isn’t true, to say you don’t feel even if you do (and does he - ?). And Kurt doesn’t know, he doesn’t know why his heart beat gets louder around Blaine, why he can’t fight his smile around Blaine, why everything falls when he’s around Blaine. He doesn’t know but it’s so easy to say it isn’t true.

Forcing his eyes upon, not even realizing he closed them, he feels a press to the top of his head, a lingering touch, and Kurt strains to look up as Blaine pulls away. 

Blaine starts to push at his arm until he turns over, and then he’s being circled, muscles of Blaine’s arms straining tight. He wants to unlock, wants to give in, Blaine is so warm and strong and there and - Blaine pulls him until his back is against his chest.

One breath, two, and then everything melts.

Lips on his neck this time, a slow brush of a kiss, Blaine breathing against his skin, nose nestled into his hair.

And then, faintly, like Blaine’s words are in his mind, in his dreams: “Go to sleep, Kurt. It’s going to be okay.”

He has to blink, eyes shutting tight - because there’s that burning threat of tears and he so badly wants to believe him.

Everything disintegrates, every lock disappears again, Blaine holds him, pulling him closer every now and then like he doesn’t want Kurt to slip away - and Kurt could never slip away, not like this.

Silence captures the room, save for Blaine’s breathing. And Kurt is still conscious about the fact that his chest hurts, stings, and his every breath is measured until - Blaine starts to  _snore_.

Soft yet loud, and Kurt doesn’t fight against the grin that breaks free across his face.

It is so unfair how fast he can fall asleep, and Kurt thinks that maybe a scheduled bedtime wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him. If it works for Blaine . . .

He feels like a pile of bones in the bed, tired and worn, ready to close his eyes.

Blaine is right there, right against him, and his poor arm is going to go numb with Kurt’s weight. But he holds him, even in sleep, and Kurt can’t do a thing about it, can’t drift away from him -

Because, he doesn’t know why, will probably never understand, but Blaine’s hands ground him, grip him. Stop the spin of the world and the sickness in his gut. And kissing Blaine makes every bone in his body disappear.

The worst part is that he can’t do anything about it, completely and entirely helpless to him. But - but no, the worst part is that he  _needs_  it.

Blaine shuffles, snores behind him, and heart finally back to normal, breathing light, Kurt thinks  _Blaine, your glasses_  and  _Blaine, good god, your shoes -_  and seriously,  _who raised you?_

And the last thing he thinks is that he should definitely tell his father that he went home early . . .

But sleep demands that he closes his eyes, and with one last deep breath - Blaine shifting again, arm still wrapped around him - Kurt falls asleep.

-

Fighting his way out of dreams is proving near impossible. His mind is fogged up; body pressing closer to the warmth behind him, but that warmth is moving away from him and that loud ringing noise won’t  _shut up._

Is that the Pokemon theme song . . . ?

Kurt groans, pressing his face into the pillow. He isn’t sure what to register first; how empty he feels without Blaine’s arms on him, without his body against his, or how cold the room suddenly is now that Blaine’s not on the bed.

He rolls over just in time to watch Blaine fumble around, hair an absolute mess on top of his head, glasses sitting crookedly, and he searches his pockets for his phone. The darkness of the room is interrupted by the blinding light and then Blaine answers it, a groggy “ _Hello?_ ”

Blaine slumps back to the bed, curled over, and Kurt can hear the way his voice shifts; from tired to awake, from muffled to clear.

With a glance to the alarm clock he realizes just how long they’ve been asleep. Hours. And yet he feels like he never even closed his eyes.

“I can explain,” Blaine says into the phone, one hand coming up to rub over his face.

And he sounds like he’s pleading - and Kurt has to sit up, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, an ocean of waves filling his insides.

“I know, I’m sorry. Something . . came up.”

A pause.

“Somebody I tutor.”

The ocean rises and he is going to drown and Kurt can’t do anything but hold himself tighter, settle further up the bed.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I-I - I’ll be home soon. Love you.”

Blaine pulls the phone away and sets it down, not looking away from the ground. Still looks half asleep, and Kurt can’t fight his smirk because he has pillow lines on his face - and oh, he would do anything for five more minutes of  _that_.

“My parents,” Blaine sighs, turning to face Kurt completely. “The school must have called them.”

“Are you in trouble?” Kurt asks, voice clouded, gravely.

Blaine’s lips form a hard line, and he shrugs. “It seems that way.”

Something sharp prickling at his insides, all the way up his spine and then through his gut. “I guess I am a bad influence on you after all.”

Blaine looks like he’s about to laugh, but the curve of his back bends further and his head falls into his hands, fingers raking through his hair, sigh an echo off the walls.

The sharpness is all Kurt can feel, and he threads his fingers together, shifts uncomfortably. Anything, _anything_  - for five more minutes, please.

“If you need me,” Blaine says, loud and clear, back straightening. “I can stay.”

And Kurt does need him, he does. _Anything for five more minutes._

“Go,” Kurt tries, every ounce of strength he has going into his voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go.”

Blaine stands, hands running over his hair again, and pauses. “Will you be at school tomorrow?”

He thinks - how did he survive that for a year? He knows he can’t handle another day of it. Of not knowing, of being scared, and he wishes he knew how to not be scared but - he isn’t made of stone. He lifts his chin and tries to be strong and pretends to be strong but he isn’t made of stone and he can easily slip through the cracks and - his choices taken away, he has no other option, not if he wants the ground to stay solid under his feet. Deny deny deny; when has he ever had the option not to?

“I don’t know.”

And maybe he needs him now more than ever, because his heart is climbing back up and he’s so scared but - if you deny it, eventually it will become the truth . . .

The bed dips again as Blaine kneels down, and Kurt’s shaken out of his thoughts when his jaw is captured in Blaine’s hand.

Then all that’s left is the air around them, and Blaine’s lips soft against his, parting slowly, and if Kurt was still drifting in from sleep before he is definitely awake now.

When Blaine pulls away the loss is an echo throughout his whole body, but he stays still, quiet.

“Then I will see you soon, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says, adjusting his glasses, smile back on his face.

And when Blaine is gone the loss is an echo throughout the whole room. And how could he possibly deny that . . . ?


End file.
